


The One Who Knew and The Three Who Didn't

by Disaster_Lady



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Parts of this are sad though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disaster_Lady/pseuds/Disaster_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallas and Hoxton aren't hiding their relationship, but they aren't telling either. The crew gets to find out one by one in a variety of circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Who Knew and The Three Who Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation with Deluxe-Hoxton-Trash.
> 
> Houston gets to be the "Ross" in this situation.
> 
> And for all of us "Hoxton is gay" headcanoners, I fixed one of his in-game lines in this.

1.

Wolf always knew.

Dallas and Hoxton did their best to keep it a secret the first time. Wolf guessed the truth a few months before Hox’s arrest. The little details about how they acted gave it away, a look here, a change in tone. The longer he had his suspicions, the more he was convinced he was right. Wolf refused to ask Hoxton for confirmation. He was uncomfortable prying into any of the crew’s personal lives. They had kept out of his, never asking if he missed his family or if he sent them money.

Sometimes he would forget about Kristine and the children during the moments he saw red and just couldn’t stop.

Hox was good at calming him down, maybe it was the sound of his voice, or his willingness to risk getting accidentally getting hurt by Wolf in the process. He would gradually remember who he was, or rather who he wanted to be, and was back to his quieter, jovial self.

 

His thoughts about Dallas and Hox were confirmed a few months after the breakout. Wolf always thought eavesdropping was rude, but Hox was talking about him to Dallas in the kitchen. Wolf hid in the storage room, listening.

“Fucking disturbing it is, whenever he, what’s the word, disassociates. What if we can’t get to him when he goes berserk? Can you imagine Wolf in prison?”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Dallas. “Make him stay in the safe house? I think we’re doing the best we can for him.”

Hox scoffed. “I don’t fucking know. I worry sometimes.”

“So you have a heart after all,” teased Dallas.

“Oi! I’m with you aren’t I?”

The two laughed, and Wolf walked away.

 

Hoxton was cleaning his gun in the safe house living room. He and Wolf were the only ones there that afternoon, and Wolf planned to use his time catching up on his reading. He sat down down opposite Hox, trying to remember what page he was on.

“Hox?”

“Yeah Wolfie?”

“Are you and Dallas in a relationship?”

Hoxton stopped cleaning the gun. “That we are.”

“Thought so.”

Wolf went back to his book.

 

2.

The crew was getting ready for a heist. John was a few steps from the garage when he saw Hoxton tightening the straps on Dallas’ ballistic vest. In what must have either been an act of thanks or good luck, Dallas gave him a quick kiss.

They hadn’t noticed John in their line of sight, and he waited a few moments before continuing inside.

He was surprised, but not very. He pushed the feeling away. They had a job to do.

 

John had known Hoxton was gay for years, he thought it was a funny story.

A few months before he did the last job for Viggo, he was visiting Nick in D.C. He was working for a small time syndicate, and was telling John about the Englishman he befriended.

The three of them went out drinking one night. John shared embarrassing stories about him and Nick during their military days. Hoxton told them how his last partner ran off with their loot. He seemed to hold no ill will against her for it, saying he would congratulate “Clover” if he ever saw her again.

As the evening grew later, Nick broke off to talk up a pretty red-head at the bar.

Hoxton was clearly drunk as hell at that point. John lost track of how many pints he had imbibed. John himself had more drinks that he originally intended, the world getting a little blurry at the edges.

“So Wick,”said Hoxton, putting his feet up on the table. “I have to say, you’re a lot more fucking handsome than Chains led me to believe.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Hoxton was eyeing John with what he must have thought was an alluring look.

“Are you coming onto me?” John asked, confused.

“What? Don’t think you’re handsome?”

John hadn’t been expecting this.

“Uh, I’m flattered. But I’m engaged. To a woman,” he added.

Hoxton curled in on himself, covering his face in his hands.

“Ah shite, I need to get my fucking gaydar checked.”

“I’m not offended,” said John, giving Hoxton a smile. “Helen will be impressed that she has competition.”

“You know, I think that men should have engagement rings. Save a poor bastard some embarrassment.”

John lowered his voice. “Are you ‘out’? Cause I don’t want to put you in an awkward spot.”

“More awkward than I just put you?”

“Yeah.”

Hoxton shrugged. “I don’t give a damn. If anyone’s got a problem with it, they can fight me.”

 

If their relationship was good, John hoped it was happy, he hoped it lasted. Twelve years of Helen sounded like a long time, but it was all too short. So much of his life (if he was lucky) stretched out before him without her.

 

3.

He was fucked up. Chains sure as hell didn’t mean to get this fucked up.

He just wanted a nice night at the bar. But some motherfucker spiked his drink, and then some other motherfucker picked a fight with him.

Chains’ nose bled all over his shirt and his head was pounding from the bottle smashed over it. He was tired and disappointed. If he could fall asleep on the D.C. sidewalk, he would.  Chains’ apartment was too far way to walk, and taking the subway in his condition would only draw unwanted attention.

But if his memory was correct, he was not far from Dallas’ apartment. Chains knew it was late, but Dallas would never leave him out in the cold.

He banged on the door several times. Chains was relieved when he heard Dallas’ footsteps inside.

He stood sleepy eyed in his bathrobe, gun in hand.

“Chains, it’s three in the goddamn morning.”

“I know man, but I had a rough time at the bar. You were easier to get to.”

He sighed, beckoning him inside. “I’m gonna stop telling people my address.”

 

Chains sat in the bathroom while Dallas cleaned his cuts. The smell of antiseptic was making his head worse. He knew he was fucked, as he kept seeing double of Dallas’ toothbrush.

“Man, I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit.” Dallas got out a band-aid.

Chains’ stomach gave a lurch. He made it to the toilet in time to throw up, his best luck of the night. Dallas half-heartedly patted him on the back.

“I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Thanks.”

Dallas returned with his drink and a throw blanket.

“Let’s get you settled on the sofa.”

Chains took careful sips of water as Dallas led him into the living room. He looked at the sofa in distaste, it was too small for his great height.

“Can’t I just share with you,” he asked Dallas. “I’m too big for that thing.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Why not? I won’t hog the bed,” protested Chains.

Dallas rolled his eyes. “You’re on thin ice already buddy. Besides if you throw up again, I don’t want you doing it in my bedroom. I’ll get you another pillow if it makes you feel better.”

“Thanks man.”

Chains tried to get comfy on the sofa. He tucked his knees close to his chest and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

“Here’s your pillow.” Dallas tossed it at his head. “And for the love of god, don’t wake me up unless it’s an emergency.”

 

He woke when his stomach started growling. Chains sat up, his legs and back stiff from sleeping in a tight position. He stretched, his watch said it was little after six a.m. Dallas wouldn’t mind if he made a little breakfast and left. It would be quiet, just as he expected him to be.

Dallas had slim pickings in his kitchen. A few cartons of chinese food sat in the refrigerator. Chains thought that he would become an even worse houseguest if he ate Dallas’ lo mien.

Toast, now that was a thing Chains could make without a problem. He found a half-full jar of peanut butter and most of a loaf of bread.

He popped a slice into the toaster, putting it on the middle setting. Chains sat at the kitchen table, waiting.

A burnt smell hit Chains’ nose. The toaster started to smoke.

“Oh shit!”

He ripped the plug from the socket, another cloud of smoke wafted into the ceiling. Chains singed his fingers as he tried to get the burning bread out of the stupid toaster. He waved the cloud away, only to send the smoke into the fire detector.

Chains swore as the alarm started to beep. He climbed on a chair to turn it off. No matter what button he hit, the thing kept up its noise. _BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_.

A horrid thought came to him, what if another resident heard the sound and called the fire department? Dallas would be pissed beyond belief if he inadvertently brought law enforcement to his apartment.

Fuck it, Chains was waking him up.

He wrenched the door open without knocking.

“Dallas! The fucking toaster is smoking and the goddamn fire alarm won’t shut off!”

“Shit!”

Dallas ran out in his boxers.

The other side of the bed threw the covers off.

“What the bloody hell is Chains doing here?” demanded Hoxton.

Chains was dumbfounded. It was Hoxton, no doubt about it. Accent, burn scars, long hair, that was him. There was a difference between two men sleeping in the same bed, and two men sharing a bed together. Dallas and Hoxton were certainly the latter.

The beeping continued. Chains went back to the kitchen. Standing in his underwear, hair rumpled by sleep, Dallas was tearing the batteries from the fire detector.

Hoxton followed Chains, wearing a bedsheet like a cape around his shoulders. The alarm finally silent, the awkwardness hung over them like the cloud of smoke had before.

“You see Nate, this is why I said we needed a new fucking toaster,” said Hoxton, shaking his finger at Dallas.

 

As an apology, Chains made breakfast. It was only brewing coffee and pouring milk into cereal, but it was the thought that counted.

“So this is a thing,” he asked as they all sat at the table.

“Yeah, it’s a ‘thing,’” said Hoxton.

“I never would have guessed,” said Chains.

“That’s because we’re professionals, and keep our personal lives to ourselves.” Dallas said it like he was giving Chains a lecture.

He took a drink of his coffee.

“Is this a ‘don’t tell anyone or I’ll fucking kill you’ situation?”

“Aw, it’s not like that Chains,” said Hoxton.

“It isn’t a secret. Hoxton just wanted to see how long it would take for people to notice,” said Dallas, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

Hoxton frowned.“Oi, you pinning this on me? You agreed!”

“I think it’s funny,” said Chains. “Who else knows?”

“Wolf does.”

“What?” said Dallas and Chains together.

“Oh sorry! He asked, I’m not gonna lie to a friend,” Hoxton said defensively.

“What about Houston?” asked Chains. That was a time bomb waiting to happen in his mind.

“I will deal with my brother,” said Dallas, holding up a placating hand. “Hoxton is not allowed to bring me into any of their squabbles.”

“Or else he kicks my ass.”

 

Chains finished his breakfast and did the dishes. Dallas made him promise not to drop in on him in the middle of the night again.

 

4.

“I have a name you know! Could you cool it with the ‘Ass-Clown’?”

“Oh yeah ‘Houston,’ are you forgetting that I came up with that one too?” said Hoxton giving him a smirk.

Houston resisted the temptation to punch the limey bastard. The crew arrived at the safe house from a job, and Dallas asked Houston and Hoxton to move the stolen cash down to the basement. Houston was still annoyed from listening to the endless litany of rude nicknames Hoxton called him by during the heist. Even when pleading for his help, Hoxton wouldn’t lower himself to calling him Houston.

Houston got a bag from the van and he threw it a little harder than he had to at Hoxton. The bag caught him off guard, causing him to stumble, hitting his head on the back off the wall.

“Wanker.”

“Twat.”

 

Houston was down in the basement practicing picking locks a few days later.

“Oi Houston.”

Hoxton poked his head inside. He knocked on the doorframe to make it more obvious that he was there.

“What do you want?” Houston leaned against a safe, crossing his arms.

“Let’s have a truce.” Hoxton clasped his hands in front him, like he was begging for mercy.

“You shitting me? A truce?  You’re the one that started this!”

What kind of asshole did Hoxton think he was? He couldn’t just bully him and then just decide to stop.

“I did not!”

“Fuck you!”

Hoxton sighed. “Look lover-boy, I mean _Houston_ , I’m not asking you to have a truce. I’m telling you, we’re having a truce.”

“Why?” said Houston, indignant.

“Just accept that we're fucking having one.”

Houston shook his head. “No.No. No.  If you want to have a truce, how about you tell why you want one.”

Hoxton gritted his teeth. “I’m saving us both trouble with Dallas.”

That only made him madder.  Did his brother think that he couldn’t handle himself? That he needed to tell Hoxton to go play nice? Dallas could have a piece of his mind if he thought so.

“Really? I don’t need him fixing shit for me like I’m some dumb kid.”

Houston tried to walk past Hoxton, but he grabbed him by the jacket sleeve.

“Did you listen to anything I said? I’m saving your ass as well as mine!”

“Why? You think you’ll get credit from me for being nice?”

“I’m not doing it to be nice!” Scowled Hoxton. “I don’t want to be on Dallas’ shit list!”

Houston flipped him off. “I don’t give a damn.”

Hoxton poked him hard in the chest. “You’ll care if you are!”

“So what? We gotta be best friends for Dallas?”

“I said it’s a truce!” Hoxton shouted into the ceiling.

“You afraid of dragging him into this?”

“Yes, actually.”

Houston had not expected this answer. There was more to this that he was aware of.

“Why?”

“Look boy-”

Houston started laughing. “Boy? Dude, you are a year older than me.”

“We are having a truce, a cold war, whatever you want to call it.”

“Are you scared of Dallas,” teased Houston.

“We’re boyfriends,” Hoxton said slowly.

Houston waited for the punchline, for Hoxton to tell him that he was joking. But Hoxton just stood there grimacing weirdly at him.

He was serious.

Letting out a string of profanities, Houston ran upstairs.

“Oh. My. God,” he shouted at his brother. “You and Hoxton!”

Wolf, Chains, and Wick were going over a map with Dallas.

“I guess the social experiment is over,” he said, leaning back on the sofa.

“SOCIAL EXPERIMENT!”

“Keep your voice down, do you want the whole neighborhood to hear us?”

Wick’s dog, Rosie, started to bark at the noise.

An uncomfortable thought came to him, besides the one where his brother was banging his nemesis.  Houston dragged his hands down his face.

“Did all of you know about this but me?”

Wolf nodded. Wick shrugged and said yes.

“Even you Chains?” His betrayal hurt the most. “I thought we were friends.”

“Hey Houston look, it’s a long story that involves a toaster.”

“A toaster? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?”

Dallas got up and tried to calm Houston down.“Little brother is this because he’s-”

Houston cut Dallas off. He knew where that question was going. Houston did not have a problem with gay people. His favorite roommate in college was queer as a three dollar bill. Hell, Dallas had been the one to explain same-sex relationships on a trip to the zoo when he was six.

_“Do you like boys Nate?”_

_“Uh, sometimes.”_

Houston should have paid closer attention to the last part of the memory.

“I don’t care that he’s a man,” Houston shouted, waving his arms. “I care that it’s Hoxton! He’s the fucking WORST!”

“Gee thanks.”

“Come on,” cut in Wolf. “You had to see this coming a little bit.”

“NO! AND YOU!” Houston turned on Hoxton, thinking of his one recollection of implied heterosexuality. “You said you wanted to go to a ‘Cat House’ after we broke you out!”

Hoxton rolled his eyes.“Oh for fucks sake, I was making a _joke_! The only cat house I’d go to is the one where you sit around and play with the animals.”

“A cat cafe?” said Wick.

Hoxton snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Houston’s imagination went into overdrive, his brain coming up with all the reasons why this wouldn’t work.

“Isn’t he like too young for you?”

Dallas’ eyes narrowed. “You calling me old, little brother.”

“No, god, I’m pointing shit out.”

Chains placed his arm around Houston’s shoulders.

“Now before you stick that foot deeper into your mouth, why don’t you sit down and pet Wick’s dog?”

Chains shoved him down to the sofa. Rosie stuck her head between Houston’s legs, happy to give attention. He scratched her behind the ears, hoping it would distract him.

“Now that this bullshit is settled,” said Dallas, straightening his jacket. “Let’s get back to work.”

“Hey, one more question,” asked Houston. “Am I still allowed to dislike this prick?”

“Yeah,” said Hoxton. “I want to know too.”

Dallas didn’t look up. “Don’t care, as long as I’m not involved.”

“Twat.”

“Wanker.”

The truce was off to an alright start.

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Ah Wolf. Sometimes his life makes me so sad.
> 
> 2\. Who wouldn't hit on John Wick? Also this is an attempted to make the timeline work, Hoxton does say that he knows Wick during Breakout.
> 
> 3\. Somewhere there is an alternate universe where Chains and Hoxton wake up cuddled next to each other.
> 
> 4\. I love Houston. Maybe he and Hoxton can be best frienemies some day?
> 
> And thanks to L for beta-ing this.


End file.
